


The Next Step Went a bit Squishy

by SRN (a_b_b_e)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Contortion, Nudity, Other, Overweight, Sopor Slime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-13 17:27:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17492168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_b_b_e/pseuds/SRN
Summary: A younger Condesce, gallivanting round, conquering the neighbours, finding just what Sopor can do to a Seadweller





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FoeHammer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoeHammer/gifts).



Her Imperious Condescension slept.

It had felt like sweeps she'd spent awake, as she made her way into the strange recuperacoon. No - the Campaign... that had been sweeps. But now - forget it's old name, it was her land now - the previous queen of this castle's soon-to-be-corpse was strung up on the underside of the drawbridge.

When she finally ordered the main drawbridge lowered, the queen's skull would be crushed.

Or, whatever was left of it after being baked by the sun.

None of the coastal queens had taken this long - many of them had been set up to die in completely un-mysterious circumstances, potential successors allowed to in-fight for a while, then their lands had been claimed by The Condesce. Two or three dozen sweeps of peace so no pattern would be noticed, repeat. Given the pattern, a few forcible takeovers were merited to break up the monotony. And, there was still a coastal queen or two, but they'd meet their fate in time.

But... the Inland queens. The Wildlands. These were a different equation entirely, but necessary if she were to truly unite the world under her rule. No ships - or at least not large ones - for resupply - the logistics of fielding an army were entirely different. After study though, first point of attack became obvious. One of the so-called Sopor Barons, and the _Artificial_ Sopor they produced. The Recipe would keep her soldier's minds straight without shipping in tons of concentrated sea water, and give her sway over the neighbors.

She rolled over, again, in the recuperacoon, lucid for half a moment. This stuff was great.

~

She didn't know how many nights had passed when she woke up; there was green sludge in her eyes but, she was still outrageously refreshed. Did it matter? Wherever the local Violet bloods had been hiding, they would have too much sense not to fall in line now, and her own forces were commanded enough to search out any potential next-in-lines.

Then as she cleared her eyes, she realized something.

"S)(IT."

The spacious recuperacoon had a proper entrance and exit, which a tiny bit of Sopor had sloshed out of. But. Its former occupant had been tiny. Punt-across-the-courtyard tiny. And Condy... had been doing a lot of stress eating over the past few sweeps. Which, her older Violet generals would occasionally assure her, wasn't unusual, and post war would just be something to exercise away.

But how had even one of her rumble spheres gotten through that hole? Had she been driven delirious by even the smell of Sopor when she apparently oozed in?

As she tried to stand up in the opaque mass, she found just how twisted up she had become during her sleep. Her spheres were not supported by the Sopor. Her spheres were supported by her leg. Which, in turn, had become threaded behind her butt. Which was in the orientation it was because her waist was twisted to make it so.

"...so this Sopor really is that relaxin, then." She was more befuddled than alarmed - Gl'bgolyb had managed to twist her up like this on some occasions - the occasions being "playtime" and "hugs" - but that was the way it was with power. Even at it's most sympathetic, the weak either need to adapt or get hurt. Under normal conditions, though, she would definitely have felt the twisting, even if her bloodline had originally been engineered merely to survive it.

As she untied their unintentional support structure - that is, herself - her spheres' mass sunk deeper and deeper into the slime. Finally able to stand up properly - save for some creative head angling as her horns rubbed a against the top of a recuperacoon, a chamber that would definitely be considered luxurious for the former queen's size - her spheres bounced, knocked, and jostled against each other below her waist, victims of both her poor diet and relaxed muscles. Looking down, they looked like a parody of the extra-wide hips she had acquired.

She glanced again at the tiny, darkened exit hole.

Her arm-length horns would be the least of her problems. The recuperacoon was a proper tank, psionic grade, there would be no quick punching her way out. And as her solders were all under orders to leave her alone - all this could be a problem.

Or her current relaxed state of her flesh could be a solution. Oh - it was soft. Grossly so, as she lifted up a sphere to examine it - it seemed to be sinking between her fingers. It was puffy. Bloated. Unbecoming of a sea dweller's sleek physique. It was almost like...

Land dweller skin. F***. Was this a trap? Was this... intentional?

None of it mattered at the moment. Getting out mattered. A last glance out - nothing unusual to see, no obvious traps. Then - drat. In it's "softened" state a single raised thigh was a big as the hole she had to crawl out of. At least, as it wasn't a piece of flesh of its normal solidity, her thigh deformed easily to fill the hole - loosening up just enough to give a crescent of air to consider once the thigh was through. What came next? Another leg wouldn't fit through the space... unless.... she bent her exposed leg at the knee and tried to draw it back in, seeing if thigh-flesh would accommodate.

Unexpectedly, it did. the leg slipped back in the recuperacoon almost as easily as if slipped out, calf sinking into the thigh until it cleared the hole.

Well, that still left her... Wait. Just how moldable were these spheres.. she lifted one up, and manged to wrap it around her neck - to be annoyed that distended as it was the areola size seemed to match her head... which was not what she remembered from the last time seeing herself naked.

Which could have been pre-war.

"You know what? F*** this." She shoved one sphere through the open exit, bent her head back far enough - she had to twist a bit to the side to wedge a horn in between her butt cheeks, and PUSHED. If she had oozed in, she would ooze out. And slowly, as she eased her center of gravity high enough, she did. Like toothpaste, bones and all, she wiggled and squeezed though a hole she would come back and destroy at the first available opportunity - but after a final wiggle and an audible pop, she appeared to be just a decapitated pile of bloated troll flesh and Sopor slowly resolving itself into a recognizable form, gasping for air as she finally got her horns dislodged and neck straightened.

The Condesce really hoped that queen was still alive, hanging from that drawbridge. She had questions.

~

She washed. Water was sparse enough here that not even the queen had a proper bath. It just sprayed from a pipe above. And by "above", it meant The Condesce was forced to sit on the ground to keep her horns from clanging on the pipe. At least it was cool water. She twisted a bit, trying to find patches of drying Sopor to scrape off her body, just to notice that with enough water it would dissolve and run off on it's own.

If scrape was the right word. Her skin was... puffy. Hideous, under the lights of the shower. every bit of fat on her was... loose. Floppy. Flopping. More like rising dough than the cooked bread crust it was supposed to look like. About the same difference in shade too.

She didn't think to dry afterwards - trying to fit her wetsuit on - but it just wouldn't go. It had fit practically last morning- was her skin waterlogged as well? What? What exactly was in this stuff would make a sea dweller's skin anything but waterproof?

She scavenged through the former Queen's clothes. She wouldn't be needing them anymore - pinning a few tyrian capes together for a skirt of sorts, carefully weaving a few ripped open shirts to protect her waterlogged skin from drying out too fast - she knew from seeing the land dwellers that that never ended well. Doing it again, better, when she thought to bend over and look at herself in the old queens' short mirrors, and the whole ensemble almost tore apart.

First priority, see the quartermaster a bout a quick tailoring.

Second, check on former queen.

~

When the Condesce walked on the fortress' stone battlements, her clothes, though still unmistakably several shirts, capes, and skirts sewn together around her circumference, would at least stay securely attached to her mass. The mass that awkwardly swayed with every step, her spheres practically pendulums by her sides.

That didn't matter. When one gawker had thought to open her mouth, the Condesce had taken to opportunity to open it wider, and leave the jaw dangling on a thread of flesh. She'd live long enough to inform the other soldiers not to do that.

She had to turn sideways to make it up the narrow battlement stairway, and still water-and-Sopor-gorged butt cheeks bounced off each other and tower's stone wall as she shuffled up.

But the view... the view was good. Finally looking down from that castle rather than up at it, at what she assumed were the Sopor factories, smoking away, hard at work. Most of the smoke was from dedicated pipes of some sort - only one of them was actually on fire. A good submission - or conversion? rate. The war had gone on long enough that their first batch of new products would sell at a premium.

She heard... raspy breathing. Good. "Ain't it beautiful?"

She peeked over the parapet. A few soldiers were far below, slowly setting up the emptied "moat" with row after row of impaling spikes - just short enough to make sure the would-be impale-es would fall a bit first. The Queen still hung from the drawbridge - well, she'd gotten one of her arms out of it's shackle, but probably regretted the extra body weight that now hung from her neck.

The old queen's free arm had a few arrows pinning it to the drawbridge. The Condesce reached down, yanked one out - a little whimper in response - and examined it for a moment. Not one of hers. A local? A blue blood.

"You. In the moat," She flung the arrow down. "You're promoted. Find me who shot that arrow. Treat 'em nice-like."

The Brown bowed profoundly several times before running out of sight. This sole task might set him up for life.

"Ya know what? Questions, questions. I should have mentioned I got 'em. An seein as your still alive, I'll assume you can answer some of them," The Condesce reached down and ran a finger across a long curled horn.

The other troll, skin starting to crack from a few days of sun exposure, groaned a bit, "Then you haven't asked any other single person." The voice was rough, gravely, dry.

"Oh, I figured after all the trouble you put me through, you'd prefer to take my anger than let your people do it." An honestly chubby hand was wrapped around the end of one horn and tensed - there was a loud snap. It was merely the Condesce's knuckles cracking, but the force of it rattled the previous queen. She didn't whimper - but she shook.

"So, this 'Sopor'. Tell me about it."

"Do you want me to explain seawater? I don't make the stuff."

"You know nothing about what you sleep in every day?"

"Like I said, tell me about seawater. Dilute it enough and it's almost the same thing."

"It's bright green. That's not seawater."

"Then you haven't diluted it enough. Though, I must admit you've forced me to go without the 'diluting' part to get a good day's sleep lately... say... you've left me hanging for a bit... you didn't notice it messing with your skin, did you?"

"Gotta say you look even smaller after being out in the sun a few days."

"Oh, yeah, you've given me time to dry out. You're welcome to join me this sunrise, if you find you're having - problems."

"Are your Violets the ones that see to you factories, then?"

"Violets? Have you seen any violets in my army? You're inland. I don't have a subject over Indigo. You don't think I could hide one of them, do you?"

The Condesce straightened up. While it was true that Violets weren't particularly fond of land - including her own - they still would have wanted to bee seen on the battlefield, auspiciously not being on the front lines.

She leaned back over the wall, letting here spheres drape over it - the curved queen's horns were just the right distance from the top of the wall to provide support to their mass. "Well, forgive me, I've been informed that my Subjugglators found at least two seadwellers and culled them. I haven't had the time to be briefed on any more details."

The former queen had sagged under the additional weight. She sagged a little more.

"No other sea dwellers, eh? The pailing practices out here must be pretty... risqué."

"One gets around."

"Disgusting. Even letting those threats to your throne exist..."

"How young are you? Do you seriously think grubs are a threat? Insecure." There was something that sounded like a chuckle. "If all this sag is an indication, you might want to wait a while before pailing again." the noise grew harsher, "or at least water down your Sopor slime for a few days, first."

The Condesce frowned. Sopor hadn't gotten in... through... had it? What effect would that even have?

She shook the thought from her head. "You know, its not sounding like keeping you alive will be very useful." Hand over hand she pulled her spheres up over the wall. "Unless you are a little more helpful."

The former Queen's cracked skin had opened up a bit under the weight of the Condece's spheres. A few small blots of tryian blood was welling up. "I'm sure you'll figure it out, small fry."

The Condesce turned from the lands below. This was going nowhere.

"Gatekeepers! Out in the courtyard," The Condesce's voice boomed. The view of the inside of the castle was a bit more bloody, even with the nights given to haul away bodies. About 8 trolls lined up at attention - blues of different hues, a green or two that had caught their favor.

"Raise the gate. Disengage the drawbridge lock, no lowering. Got it?"

They all shouted, bowed, ran to their posts. With loud clunks, the portcullis started to raise, blocking the direct path to the courtyard as it heaved up, bit by bit.

Normally, the parapet would have been sort enough that the Condesce could have just swung a leg over it, but the bulk of loose blubber on her legs was getting in the way. She opted instead to swing through a straddle split, sitting for a moment on the wall with legs spread wide to see if she could feel any stretch yet.

She couldn't.

She swung her legs forward, balancing in the thick edge of the drawbridge - the queen hanging directly below, and far below her, the partially set up moat of spikes.

"Last words? If they're good enough I'll actually consider recording them."

The queen looked up. "What? Like I'd believe that. Am I supposed to try shaking you off, dooming myself? I'll Pass."

"If you want it saying nothing, rather than you were an idiot, fine with me."

Gingerly the Condesce turned around, pointing her butt at the moat, and waited. The Portcullis finally finished raising. The drawbridge shook as it own catch was released.

"Bye now."

Her right toes dug into the wood of the drawbridge, while she braced her left foot and pushed.

Slowly the gap beneath her opened - her legs quivering under the tasks of keeping balance and pushing, shivers amplified in her flopping blubber. Just before she reached the full extent of her leg span, she felt something shift in the balance of the drawbridge - and she let herself sag. Chains started clanking on their own, and shortly her left leg lost it's bracing. The length of her legs easily fell and flopped against the drawbridge. She relaxed her right foot and slid down the slope - as fast as the loose skin of her legs would allow.

She reached the bottom of the slope a moment before the drawbridge leveled out - so she sat in her split for that long moment and savoured the swearing and oaths bubbling up from the underside of bridge. And the immediate end to said swearing and oaths as soon as the drawbridge levelled out, hesitating a fraction of a second as it settled into place the smallest of "pops" and silence.

She stood up, managing to make her swaying bulk look intentional.

"Collect the horns, leave them in my chambers. Leave the body chained for now," The land's new queen twisted her neck from side to side - while she didn't feel any release, the ligaments did crack a bit, "And someone inform whoever is kowtowing track - the early kowtowers - that they shall be shown into in the Hall shortly."

~

There wasn't that much time left in the night for receiving all the ass-kissing she got - straddling the throne because it was too small to actually sit in - a few implied trying the literal version, but they were shooed off. No Violets among them, only Ceruleans and Indigos.

The hall hadn't been properly cleaned out, the old garrison's cots and other effects still lined the edges. A few of the lighter blues seemed to have no issue with salvaging some keepsakes from among the cots - or maybe it was reclaiming them. She didn't care.

And besides, she had an appointment with some diluting water and closely observed yellow blood with a reciprocating saw.


	2. Chapter 2

The next evening, she woke up late - staring not at the top of her annexed recuperation, but at the high ceiling of her chambers. The sawed-off remains of the 'coon still laid scattered around the room, the floor lightly covered in dried Sopor dust.

The shower was quick - though long enough to examine her skin, the towels luxurious.

Her body had, at least, not gotten any worse, any more bloated. But it hadn't tautened noticeably either.

Around midnight there was an impromptu tour of the local town - none of the factories, that could wait. It was just a measure to draw out any brave and stupid enough to protest. It was odd - not quite annoying - to hear the low bloods coming out and whispering to each other - the words "strong" and "powerful" and "beautiful" and ... "thick"? ... but pronounced weirdly - circulating among their numbers. She caught a few whispers wondering if the two generals proceeding her - Violets - were sick, or not eating enough. Those idiots. They didn't even know what a sea dweller was supposed to look like.

Even a few blue bloods - smart enough to bow to only her, and to keep their distance - echoed the sentiments.

The generals glared back, eyes asking permission to slaughter a few low bloods to put them in their place. Her own gaze back denied them.

This... this was an interesting dynamic.

~

None of the crowds from the parade followed their new Queen back to her castle. In fact, the only one there waiting was a lonesome brown blood.

But oh, this brown blood was standing proud. But he would - he had been given a personal mission from the Queen. And he had succeeded. The Queen might even care if he was killed. He'd brought in a blue-blood - alive and, well, sweating profusely, the brown debriefed.

Why? What caused it to sweat? The Queen asked.

Oh, the brown wasn't quite sure. Being summoned by the Queen was obviously an honor, but - a brown doing the summoning - honestly, the brown didn't know what the emotions he was seeing were.

What is he called? The Queen asked, before sending the brown out to fetch the blue. The brown was a little disappointed the queen had not asked his own name, but it was still an honor regardless to be addressed in such a way.

"Zahhak, Your Majesty."

~

The Condesce didn't quite notice when the blue-blood entered the mostly vacated Great Hall - she'd gotten lost in her own thoughts. The room had an odd design towards "upness" - The throne was elevated over everything. Almost as if power wasn't focused on Gl'bgolyb - Though. It did make for interesting lines to appreciate. Or it would, if the throne actually fit The Condesce's ass. The width of her thighs pulled together was wider than the armrests - She sat on it a moment, legs spread wide, patchwork skirt draped across the front, ass cheeks being discreetly pulled apart as her butt tried to sink into the space afforded, like in the previous night's ass-kissing session - non-literal, thankfully - before realizing there might be an alternative.

She stood up and compared - yes, her torso was about the right width, even given it's pudginess. The geometry could work.

A straight-up handstand wouldn't, though - she'd had sweeps to figure out at just what angles her head could be to balance on her hands without making it an awkward horn-based tripod, but her now-flapping rumble spheres had their own first-time challenge. She stepped back, reassessed dimensions, and tried again.

She straddled the throne again and carefully reached under and around her flopping spheres to find the throne's armrests. Getting a good enough grip, she shifted her weight onto her hands - slowly, her feet raised from the ground, until she achieved that handstand, fingers wrapped around the edges of the thrones' armrests. Very carefully, her arms bent at the elbows, and her whole mass lowered. Her hanging spheres hit the throne's dais first - thankfully large enough that the didn't also have to contend with them running down the stairs around the throne. Hands almost to shoulders, the lower bit of her chest finally settled on the throne's seat. Back arching, She let her legs drop in front of her, either side of her horns, to find a place the could settle either side of her spheres. She shifted about for a few moments, finding just the right angles, pulling her skirt into a reasonable position, bringing her elbows to rest on the armrests (even if they couldn't bee seen under massive doughy hips), settling her crotch right behind her head.

She was sitting on both the throne and herself. A higher quality cushion was not to be found.

Ah, yes. The young troll. The Blue blood. At least he had been quiet while watching that production, half a room away - even if he did seem to be rather wet for some reason.

")(ey. Grubling. Could you old queen do anything like this?"

"E%cuse my ignorance, my Queen, but I was not parley to the traitor's habits. I have not seen your equal, though."

There was a moment of silence. Beads of water formed on the young troll's face - to repalce the ones dripping to pool in the goggles that hung from his neck.

"Traitor, eh?" One of her legs shifted - a hand looped around the outside of her thigh, and she brought a sharp fingernail to her chin, "What makes your previous ruler a traitor mere night later?"

"My Queen had won the land, so the Traitor was subject to her wishes. She... was trying to escape. Your wishes. Majesty."

"So, if I had lost the war...?"

He sweated for a moment.

"Would she be entitled to my domains?"

He remained silent for long moments, "I... e%pect not? The war was over this castle."

"I see," Thighs rippled again, and her arms appeared in the gap between her legs, crossed, resting on her spheres, "Did she speak to you, before you shot her?"

"She... Yes. It was shortly after sundown and... I had to see. She had just freed her arm, I think."

"Did she offer you riches to help? Power? Did she order you?"

"I was offered nothing. There... I shot quickly, once I saw her escaping," His hands moved behind his back... to nothing, "They. Um. Took my bow. Your guards."

"Good for them," As she listened, the Condesce continued to subtly shift, finding every degree she could manage to squeeze out of her back-bend, "Shooting a Tyrian... Oh, I can't even begin to think what would happen to you if you tried to shoot me," A sharp breath, and she managed to force her shoulders through, and in front of, her thighs.

"I... I assumed you would want some proof of my skill."

"Skill? In archery? I don't recall hearing of a single archer on the battlefield." Her mass leaned a little bit forward, and she gingerly rose from the throne, still curled about herself. As the Blue blood watched from his self-appointed post in the middle of the hall, The Condesce slowly waddled down the steps of the dias. As soon as her feet met the floor proper, her hands dropped down to it, and spine pressed into ass crack, she made a twisted canter towards the blue blood, her spheres dragging on the ground behind her.

Given their size difference, even bent as she was, she still looked down on him as she drew close. His hands clenched. He tried to keep from drawing back. He almost succeeded. But somehow she was already behind him - her chin rested on his shoulder. "There's nothing archers could do that psionics couldn't do better."

He was scared. So scared he had actually stopped sweating.

"You didn't run. Good."

Slowly her chin withdrew, the feeling of her hair was gone. The Condesce circled around to his front, twisting her head side to side, bones re-aligning in her neck as she did so. "You don't wear your symbol anywhere, even though you mark your arrows. Interesting..."

She circled around once more, "I'll tell you what. I do have a test of skill for you. If you accept, and win, you come back with me to the coast. You'll train others, be My archer. Decline, and you go back to your hive now."

"Is failure death?"

"Sounds about right." She propped up one forearm with the other and cradled her chin, still twisted at an awkward angle, "How badly do you want to show your skill?"

The Blue blood tried to stand up straighter. "If Your Majesty will allow, I shall take your challenge."

~

There was a knocking - a staff on the floor, which caught the young blue-bloods' attention. Not so much the Condesce - the Violet-blood's approaching footfalls had been far from silent. He looked with disdain at the blue-blood, but made his announcement at the Condesce's... assumed... nod.

"The... Your Highness, I would be loathe to inform you that flopping about like a wiggler is hardly a distinguished thing to do among lowbloods. However, your garment alterations are complete."

"Then I will expect them in my chambers shortly. Dismissed, Quartermaster."

The rail-thin sea dweller plodded away.

"Is he sick?" the blue blood turn back to the barely-restrained curves of the queen.

"O)(, not reelly. A little dried up, maybe. Though he shore could put on some weight, couldn't he?" Her voice rang out... and a quiet, disgusted groan echoed back in reply.

The Condesce seemed to unroll herself, pulling herself forward through her legs, hips finally starting to complain as they perilously pivoted in hip sockets, the queen pausing for a moment after a loud crunch of bone on bone rumbled beneath the tearing fabric on her knotted mass. "Finally... felt that one..." She breathed in sharply as she stood up straight, slapping a hip. In a series of pings and pops, the flapping flesh seemed to adjust itself until she managed a sigh of relief.

"Wait for me in the courtyard. Or flee, last chance." Without waiting for a reply, the Condesce exited, improvised dress flapping just a bit more freely as bones tried to crunch back into normal positions.

~

The blue blood found his way back into the castle's courtyard. It was smaller than he expected it to be - but now that he thought about it, it had to be. Thick walls. Actual buildings to defend.

There was an exotic musclebeast stable - a collection of the Queen's. First old, now new. He shuffled toward it's gate, getting a new sheen of sweat on his brow. He inched closer and closer. Maybe there was enough time to get a look at...

There was a crunch of sun-dried mud behind him. He turned to look back.

"I'm not sure they'll survive a trip over the mountains, thinking of a feast before we head back." The Condesce stood tall behind him, her curves confined, uplifted, but still swaying at her every movement, by a dense fabric blacker than the torch smoke-filled night air.

Broad magenta lines ran up let legs, under her rumble-sack, over her shoulders and down her arms. A large pair of gold arm-cuffs pinned here sleeves in place to her wrists, a substantial golden chain woven into the black fabric held the flaps of her plunging neckline in some sort of steady proximity to her neck.

His eye caught her own, "I reely should have had them forge some proper-sized bling for the occasion too. My usual stuff is pinching a bit too much." She ran her fingers under her suspension neck chain, testing to see just how well it contained her spheres.

They stayed in given a vigorous shake, at least.

"But yeah," she licked plump lips, opening the stable gate, and she waved the young troll in, "Pick one of them beasts for yourself."

The young Zahhak gasped - was his trial supposed to be mounted on one of these glorious musclebeasts, which he had only caught the slightest glimpse of in the wild? He spent long moments pondering. He might not get this chance again.

If The Condesce hadn't had her own distractions, his long consideration would have met her ire. As it was, she was testing the stitching of her remeasued wetsuit - twisting, folding over backwards and forwards, raising legs to various angles, trying to confirm each stitch of fabric would keep up with the flesh beneath it. Eventually she ran out of seams to test - "What the carp is taking you so long, buoy? You picked a beast yet?"

He stood in front of a massive... Lion? Boar? Slowly strutting on cloven hooves, raising and flexing it's four arms intermittently with no obvious pattern.

"This one, yeah? That's gonna take the rest of the night to butcher."

Horuss' blood ran cold. "Butcher". What had...

"Might as well get this over with - where's this grub's bow?"

The brown-blood had been on the edges of the yard, sitting by himself, separated from the blues and greens standing guard in places that didn't particularly need to be guarded. Their own grins had turned a little bloodthirsty at the Condesce's call.

They had made sure he was the one ready with the bow and quiver.

"You take this," Snatching it from the the brown blood, she handed the blue blood his quiver and bow, which he quickly slipped on.

"You come out.." She opened the gate of the Lionboar's stall and deftly grabbed one of the tusks on it's face. The beast was as big as she was - chiselled muscle instead of curvaceous fat - and the slightest bit taller. She still had the power to fling the beast out of the stable and into the courtyard, where it landed upended and confused.

The guards suddenly realized the had better places to be than the courtyard. Like up on the walls. With spears and other polearms.

"Now here's the challenge," The blue blood felt the Condesce's hand on his head, and his feet left the ground, "You've got your own mount to deal with," eyes covered by her palm, he felt somthing sliding around his neck, and he seemed to be drowning in a tangled mass.

She had slipped him between her horns, awkwardly facing the sky. "You just have to kill the beast before I do."

The Lionboar had stood up, sniffing the air, not quite sure what to do. "COME AT ME," the queen yelled, The troll above her managing to reposition his quiver and notch a bow as the beast tried to decide what to do.

"COME." The brown blood hadn't moved a muscle. There was a dangerous wild animal loose. What was the queen even- "AT." The hand was now on him. It wasn't gentle - the vice grip on his skull was causing something to break. Painfully. "ME." The brown blood, very much alive, was flung overhand across the courtyard at the beast. It's full weight hit the beast in the face, puncturing the trolls skin on the lionboar's tusks - he didn't stay there, falling to the ground in front of the beast.

It roared, dropping down on it's top limbs, crushing the troll into the ground. The Condesce herself bowed backwards and locked her horns between her thighs. The troll secured in her hair got an inverted view of the beast starting to charge. He screamed. The beast screamed back, launching itself at the pair.

The Condesce launched herself out of the way at the last moment - herself in a weird gallop while bent backwards, her gigantic spheres supposedly secured, hemmed somewhere between her back and horns he managed to draw his arrow.

The beast screamed as it was hit, running it's sausage fingers over it's face.

"Blinding, ehhhh? Good strategy, but slow."

It charged again, the Condesce again jumping out of it's way, Another arrow puled an almost notched before her horns pressed him into her chubby backside by the impact of her landing.

As she let up, he managed to let another arrow fly. It logged in the beast's throat as it prepared for another roar. Unnatural bright red blood started gushing from the wound, and the animal collapsed as it gasped for air.

"Well, I'll be. I suppose that means you win the challenge." His whole world rolled around, and the tiny blue blood found himself deposited on the dirt of the courtyard.

The Condesce, after depositing him, managed to continue rolling while bent backwards, somehow managing not to jam her horns into the dirt. She stop her roll as she came to the gasping beast, balancing on her chest. "Though I'll expect you to take the most effective shot first next time, if I ever say 'trial' again." She took the beast's head in between her feet... and with a twitch of her leg muscles, she crushed it's scull, letting the bright red drip on her arms for a moment before dropping the head and rolling back, to stand to her feet.

"That was a good moment of fun," She slapped a hand on her butt, and her whole body ripped with the impact, "Yeah. You're coming back with me."


	3. A few Worldbuilding Notes

The Tryian Blood caste is a result of the same waves of genetic experimentation that created most of the bloodlines; The original trolls were a lineage fairly close to the modern purples, and a lineage somewhere between Burgundy and Bronze... but, all the known modern castes existed in some form before The Condesce arrived. While small in number, the Tyrian caste was once a proper caste - though exclusively female - and considered to be the apex of the seadwellers. That said, travel wasn't easy, as troll psionics hadn't been refined - genetically or by training - as much as the period of the webcomic.

So there were smaller kingdoms. Seadwellers dominated the coasts, Blue bloods dominated inland - but a few Tyrian bloods worked their way in from the coast, conquering their own blue-dominant domains - which is actually great in some ways, a proper queen means less outright fighting between blues. Pay your tax, keep most of the money, mostly social intrigue instead of paying for armies.

So a young Condy is mostly unifying Alternia by conquering other queens, via whatever means as she sees most effective. Some outright war, like above, some subterfuge, some by broken treaty. Small scale versions of what she'd later do on an interplanetary scale.

 _Sopor_. Seadwellers didn't really need it, as seawater and the things in it helped with the less-controlled purple blood psychic emanations - and they were almost as rare as Tyrians on the coast. But as populations moved inland, both sea- and landdwellers needed ways to cope. Artificial sopor was one of those means, and eventually got better than the natural stuff as recipes developed. Modern sopor recipies wouldn't have the same effect on a seadweller that the stuff in the story did. Humans and other species ([I may or may not count a Godtier as human](https://archiveofourown.org/series/871110))... still might be pretty bad. But I mean, as long as the customers pay, you keep selling.

 _Chub_. I'm interpreting seadwellers as warm blooded, which means they will be maintaining body heat in the depths of the ocean, even if they have the gills to stay under for ... well, pretty much forever. On Dolphins there is about 5cm or so of blubber before you get to muscle. This is dense stuff. Waterproof. But, as artificial sopor hasn't been used by too many seadwellers - and it obviously has properties to get through the skin, otherwise one wouldn't need to sleep partially submerged in it - so there would be a question of reaction to said blubber.


End file.
